


strung out from the road

by atimi (bertee)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Apocalypse, Bar Room Brawl, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-03
Updated: 2010-03-03
Packaged: 2017-10-28 00:08:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bertee/pseuds/atimi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thing Dean does after the apocalypse is averted is get into a bar fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	strung out from the road

**Author's Note:**

> Written for salt-burn-porn for the prompt "surprise left hook".

The first thing Dean does after the apocalypse is averted is get into a bar fight.

Technically, Sam knows it's the fourth thing. Dean says goodbye to Castiel outside the motel, although Sam doesn't know whether the farewell is permanent or temporary; he fills up the Impala and parks her in an out-of-the-way side alley; and then he walks into the bar with his arm around Sam's shoulders like he's twenty and Sam's sixteen and they're out alone together on date night. It takes a while, however, for Sam's mind to process anything beyond numb elation - _we won, it's over, they're gone, it's over, we won_ \- and by the time he realizes that it is over and that they have won, they're already at the bar and Dean's celebrating in his own way.

From his seat at the bar, Sam watches him walk around the pool table, a little unsteady from one too many beers and with his lower lip caught between his teeth as he contemplates the next shot.

It's an act, of course. The next shot's an obvious choice - miss the corner pocket, let the other guy take two easy shots and an impossible one, and then clear the table and collect the winnings - and he knows for a fact that Dean hasn't had more than two beers, but just as he knows his brother's M.O. when it comes to hustling, Sam knows Dean's endgame here is violence rather than profit.

There's something different about the way he holds himself. Gone are the open smiles and pats to the back he favors when luring in a mark, and the grim determination Sam's seen all too much of over the last few weeks ( _months, years_ ) hasn't put in an appearance yet. Whether he's sinking his shots or sending them wide, he's full of the same easy confidence, the same easy smirks flashed as a challenge to his opponent and his opponent's friends, and the same easy temptation directed at whoever wants to receive it.

Sam's almost surprised by how much he does want to.

They haven't ever stopped what's between them - after all, if Dad wasn't enough of an obstacle, there was no way Lucifer was - but it's changed as they have, stretching taut to breaking point right along with them. But now, as he watches Dean take a long, slow swallow of beer and loosen up his shoulders before taking his shot, Sam feels himself loosening up too.

Dean clears the table in minutes.

The sound of the balls clicking against each other becomes a slow rhythm, punctuated by the sound of Dean's booted feet on the wooden floor and the breathy, purposeful gasps he lets out as he leans over the table and reaches to make his shots. He's not even trying, not really, and Sam smiles around his beer bottle at the looks of confused agitation on the faces of the group around the pool table.

He's smug when he reaches out to take the stack of bills at the corner of the table, letting out that satisfied laugh that Sam would find infuriating on a normal night. Right now, the sound of Dean laughing at all makes his stomach twist with pathetic nostalgia, and he takes another sip of beer as Dean grins at the three men.

"Better luck next time, guys. Some friendly advice?" he asks, with a smile that is anything but friendly. "You might wanna practice your game some more before next pay-day rolls around. Ramen three times a day is gonna get real old real fast."

"You son of a-"

The guy on Dean's right moves first, lunging forward with a left hook that sends Dean stumbling back but doesn't wipe the smile off his face. If anything, his grin gets wider and Sam finds himself smiling too as he gets to his feet but hangs back to watch.

Southpaw gets another hit in, a glancing blow to Dean's hip as he twists to avoid a punch to the gut, before the other sidekick lands a lucky strike to his face. Sam's seen the same hit from a demon's hand send his brother flying across the room and so he understands why Dean does a double-take at the blow which only manages to split his lip; his movements stutter as he remembers that, after months of being outmatched by Heaven and Hell, the playing field is even for once.

When he punches Sidekick back, it's with force and enthusiasm, and Sam sees him laugh gleefully this time when the guy goes down hard.

The guy who lost the pool game goes for a cue and Sam opens his mouth to yell out a warning as Loser swings it towards Dean's head with a violent, jealous shout, "Fuckin' punk!"

The warning proves unnecessary when Dean catches the stick before it hits him, closing his hand around the wood and yanking it out of Loser's hand before slamming the end into Southpaw's stomach. He wheezes but doesn't go down and Dean backs off, a look of pure enjoyment on his face as he holds the stick in both hands like a barricade.

Sam doesn't watch the other men after that.

Sidekick's still out cold on the floor, and he ignores the grunts and flails of the two others in favor of focusing his attention on Dean: the way he moves with cocky grace, the way he sometimes licks his lips before lashing out, the way his hands work the length of the stick like Dad had trained them in bar brawls rather than marksmanship, the way he throws himself into every single move, and the way he keeps glancing over at Sam during all of it.

Sam isn't sure which of the two of them is more disappointed that it's over in minutes, leaving the three men slumped, unconscious, on the floor and Dean leaning casually against the pool table.

He gets his answer when Dean steps over the man at his feet, drinks down the last of Sam's beer, and then kisses him.

Sam freezes, lips parted in a forgotten question, but even as his mind scrolls through the possible problems - _small town, bar fight, cops called, do they know we're brothers, end of the world, not anymore_ \- his hands instinctively rest on Dean's hips and squeeze.

The kiss deepens and he can block out the questions in his head, can almost block out the murmurs of the patrons around them as Dean licks inside his mouth, as playful and reckless as when he was handling the pool cue rather than handling a person. It gets deeper and rougher and harder, mouths locked together and Dean's tongue licking at his lips and his tongue and the roof of his mouth, like Dean's starving, like he's pushing and pushing until Sam gives in or pushes back.

He pulls away, seeing the spark flicker in Dean's eyes before he feels the cool of the air against his lips, and he grins, fired up and indestructible because fuck it, fuck Lucifer, fuck the angels. They won and this is the best reward imaginable.

"Let's get out of here."

He's surprised his voice still works, half-expecting to wake up in bed with fire still raining down outside the window, but he's grounded again when Dean smirks and quirks an eyebrow towards the door. "Ladies first, Sammy."

Rolling his eyes, he goes anyway but flashes a smile at the bartender on the way out, a rhetorical "what can you do" about his brother's behavior. Somehow it doesn't faze him when the bartender's expression doesn't change from an angry scowl.

Behind him, he's pretty sure Dean's doing something similar as they leave, winking at the bystanders like he's going out to get lucky, but Sam indulges him, partly because he enjoys the stunned silence that still fills the bar and partly because it's true.

He barely makes it two steps out of the door before Dean catches the sleeve of his jacket and pulls him up close again, pressing their lips together in an uncoordinated kiss as they stumble to the alley and to the Impala. Outside in the chill of the evening, the prying eyes of the patrons and the angels aren't fixed on the two of them any longer and Sam smiles into the kiss at the knowledge that he's the only one who gets to see this.

He doesn't know whether Dean has reached same conclusion or not but he goes with it when Dean kisses him desperately, grabbing at his jacket, shirt, hair and arms in an effort to get them as close as possible.

In three more clumsy steps they're at the Impala and Sam presses him back against the metal of the car, feeling the cool wind whip through whatever space there is between them and doing what he can to close that gap. Dean is hotter against him, strong legs slotted in line with his, one arm around his back and another over his shoulder, and his hips pressed up close enough for Sam to know exactly how hard he is already and exactly how to get him the rest of the way there.

He drops his head, pushing Dean's jacket back and alternating between bites and licks against the vulnerable skin of his neck. Dean shivers at that - his whole body trembles despite the warmth rushing through them both - and Sam wants to laugh when he hears him groan, "Jesus, Sam..."

He bites down harder, pressing his thigh between Dean's legs at the same time to make him moan louder as each movement brings more stimulation.

"Fuck-"

Dean laughs, strung out and ecstatic, and Sam lifts his head in time for his breath to catch his cheek. Dean's face is bathed amber in the glow from the streetlight but he knows by heart the exact color of the pink spots that are rising high on his cheeks as he struggles to catch his breath.

"You need instructions?" Dean smiles and lets his head fall back enough to look up at him. "'Cause what you were doing before was workin', trust me."

His lips are back on Sam's before Sam can think why he stopped in the first place, and he goes with it, tasting their shared beer which carries a different flavor on Dean's tongue. He licks the blood from the lip (which was split in the bar fight) and brushes his thumb over the bruise on his temple (which was gained elsewhere) just to hear Dean hiss and then moan at his touch. His knee bumps the side of the Impala and he moves his leg against Dean's jeans, raising it higher to bring Dean to his toes before pinning him safely between his body and that of the car.

Dean's whimper is close to a plea when he reaches down to the front of his jeans, heel of his hand pressing against the hardness there, and Sam goes cheek-to-cheek with him so that his lips are almost touching his ear as he asks, "What do you want?"

"You," Dean answers instantly and Sam knows he hasn't processed the question when he gasps and grinds down against his thigh. "Fuck, Sam, you. Just- Just fuckin' touch me, asshole."

He delivers the insult with vigour and Sam chuckles against his jaw, offering the teasing threat even as he opens his jeans and works Dean's cock free from his underwear, "Hey, keep going, dude. I'll buy burritos for lunch tomorrow to improve my douchebag credentials."

"Asshole," Dean reiterates with a helpless grin and fumbles with the button on Sam's jeans. "I'm gonna leave your ass the next time some ghost tries to strangle you."

"Liar."

Slowing the pace at which he's working Dean's dick, he smirks when Dean whines low in his throat and bucks up into his fist. "Shut up."

Deciding to take that literally, Sam keeps his mouth closed but keeps his hand wrapped around Dean's length as he sinks down to his knees on the ground. The night air ghosts over him and it takes a second for his mind not to slip away into worries about cold spots and faulty electronics and salt protection until he's distracted by the coolness of the air surrounding his cock and creating a welcome change to his overheated skin.

Dean's all the way to hard, dick curving up against his stomach and pre-come smeared down the length of it where Sam's fingers have been.

Before he can paint over those marks with his lips and tongue, Dean's hands are in his hair, tugging upwards instead of forward, and Sam gets back up clumsily, just in time to catch his murmur, "Stay here."

Apparently the separation was too much from the way Dean pulls him in again, chest to chest, jeans to jeans, mouth to mouth, and skin to skin, and Sam starts to think he has a point when Dean's hand wraps around both their cocks at once, fingers splayed and stretched as he starts to move, dick, hand, and body all rubbing against him and sending a warmth through him which is far better than any cooler contrast. Dean's gasping against him, lips brushing his cheek with every shallow breath, and Sam turns his head to catch his mouth, laving over the cut on his lip with his tongue again and again as he reaches down between them.

Dean's cry is breathless and punched-out when Sam's hand joins his. Their fingers touch each other's palms, a loose circle of perfect heat around their sensitive dicks as they rub together, shafts slick with shared pre-come while Dean rides Sam's thighs and Sam holds him close with his free hand.

"Fuck, Sam..."

Dean shivers against him and if his increased speed wasn't enough, the way he lets his head fall back to bare his throat is enough of a sign that he's close to coming.

Tightening his grip slightly, Sam sucks a kiss against the pulse-point on his neck, feeling the skin grow hotter under his mouth and deepening his mark at the vibrations from Dean's whimpers and groans. "Jesus, Sam, I need- I'm gonna-"

Sam writes his permission into his skin through the imprints of his teeth, biting down hard enough to provide the spike of pain to push Dean over the edge.

He comes with a yell, spilling over both of them and shaking apart in Sam's arms as he closes his eyes and surrenders to it.

Feeling the heat coiling through him, Sam rests his forehead against Dean's and surrenders too when Dean falls with him into a kiss that's messy and blown-open and made up of nothing but need, and Sam works himself to completion with Dean's lips against his.

He kisses him as his come mixes with Dean's and smears on their hands and clothes and dicks; he kisses him as they gasp for breath but refuse to let go; he kisses him as the cold creeps around them but not between them because this is it, it's over, they won.

He kisses him because Dean is his reward and because he is Dean's.


End file.
